My Darkest Hour
by Takada Saiko
Summary: Sequel to "Ghosts of the Past". A couple weeks after the wedding, Erik's nightmares begin to worry Christine. Even more so they become more frequent and harder to come out of. And what to do when the figures from nightmares step out into their perfect dre
1. The dream

**_My Darkest Hour

* * *

_**

**Prologue: The Dream

* * *

**

Christine's dark blue eyes fluttered open at the sound of a moan from the man in the bed next to her. It took her a moment to focus in the darkness, but finally she sat up and saw Erik tossing and turning next to her, groaning something in his sleep. She frowned.

She had suspected nightmares would come. She had heard him scream out in the night before, even from her own room behind the heavy door. Now that she shared a bed with him she was sure that when things settled down into a pattern of normality again – the wedding finished and all that that entailed – she had half expected for the nightmares to also return into his sleep. Knowing it did not ease her worry.

The diva reached out a slender hand to brush his face and he jumped as her hand caressed the smooth skin of his left cheek. His breath came ragged for a moment, taking it down in large gulps. Finally it evened and he lay back on his pillow, shaking only slightly.

"Love?" Christine whispered.

"I'm sorry… that I woke you," he murmured, reaching for the words he needed.

Christine shook her head. "No, dear, it's alright." There was a long pause before she settled herself with her head against his bare chest and one arm draped over his middle. "Care to tell me?"

"What?"

"Oh don't do that, Erik!" she grumbled, exasperated. She sat up and was sure she saw a frown of displeasure cross his face. "I'm no fool," she huffed.

"I never said you were, my dear."

"Yes, but you refuse to admit to me just what is causing you trouble."

"You know well enough I dream," he growled in the darkness.

"Yes…" she murmured, taking her place once again across his chest.

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her, smiling as she snuggled closer. "I'm sorry, my dear… My past haunts me in my dreams."

"Does it? What part?"

"I dare not…"

"Love, you may tell me anything."

"Some things-"

"What?" Christine demanded, half angry and half frustrated. "Some things what, Erik?"

He sighed, the images flashing through his mind. "My love… Please, not while it is fresh on my mind. I beg of you. I will only relive it again tonight if we discuss it anymore."

Christine propped herself up, kissing his lips softly. "If that is the case, then I understand," she managed as he pulled her back down again, claiming her lips as she had done his. "But in the morning?"

The Phantom looked up to her. His angel, leaning over him with her hair as a halo around her and her eyes shining with love. His Christine. "In the morning," he found himself saying.

* * *

A/N: The sequel has begun. I know the prologue is short, but I'm avoiding my mother screaming "go to bed! You have school!" so off I run. Let me know if I should continue. 


	2. Morning

**Chapter One: Morning

* * *

**

Morning found Christine alone in the wide, deep bed she shared with her husband. She had begged him – with no real resistance – to be rid of the coffin that he had once slept in and they would find a real bed to share. That is what they had done and now she found herself lost in the depths of it.

"Erik?" she called out quietly, turning over and looking to the other side of the room. He was nowhere to be seen. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she slipped from beneath the covers, tugging at her robe that had lain discarded on the floor. She wrapped it around her bare body and started out.

Erik sat in a chair in the main room, Ayesha curled up on the arm next to him, and a book in one hand and the other stroking the cat absently. He was so absorbed in the literature that he did not hear her approach until she wrapped her arms around him from behind the low-back chair.

He looked up, startled, and smiled. "Good morning."

"You seem to be in a better mood this morning," she responded with a smile that matched his. Slowly, she moved around to take the other arm of the chair – she dare not challenge Ayesha for her place – and glanced at the book he was reading. He closed it so she could read the cover and she laid her head on his shoulder, sighing softly.

"You're hinting."

"Me?" she asked innocently.

He shot her a very light glare.

"Well… Sometimes it helps."

"Not this, my love."

"Erik, please. I want you to believe me when I say I don't care what you did in the past. The past is the past. It shall stay there. Well… It should stay there."

"It never does."

She reached out to him, running a gentle hand across his exposed cheek. "Let me help you," she murmured softly, leaning close to him. "Let me understand."

Erik's eyes widened a fraction more with every bit closer she came until she was next to his ear, placing a soft kiss just below it on his jaw line. It had been two weeks since the wedding and he was still not used to her pure displays of affection towards him. The soft looks she gave him when they sat together, the times when she would reach for his hand just to grasp it in hers, the way she'd kiss him… Even the way she was able to do all those things to get him to open up. And condound the girl, it worked.

He glanced at her, and found that she was staring intently at him, her dark eyes waiting for his words. He sighed. "I suppose I've told you very little, haven't I?"

"I know you were in Persia a bit, and lived with your mother until you were nine… Other than that I know very little. Did you spend time in Russia?"

"Yes."

She smiled brightly, feeling very proud of herself. "Your Russian tea."

Erik pulled her down to place a kiss on her forehead. "Of course."

Christine waited for a moment. "Where else, Erik?"

The Phantom thought for a long moment. "I went from my mother's house to the Gypsies… to Rome, to Russia, then to Persia. I traveled Europe a bit before returning to France to help build the opera house."

Christine's eyes lit up. "Gypsies! Is that where you learned your magic tricks from?"

Erik tensed at this. "Yes," he mumbled, visibly distraught over the turn of subject.

His wife placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Then the Gypsies are what fill your dreams."

He looked startled at this. How she had grown in such a short time! The Christine he had taken under his wing some time before had been timid, unsure, and acting the part of perfectly dense. A wilting flower. But here she sat with him: unafraid, very sure, and a brilliant mind in bud. A rose. An angel. His angel. His everything. "Yes, my dear." He watched as she settled in for a story and a sigh escaped his lips. "I was nine when I ran away, as you know. I found the Gypsies wandering and, contrary to Nadir's belief, I do have to eat. They caught me and I found myself on show… A freak in a cage."

Christine stood abruptly, seeing his distress. "Perhaps… perhaps I should make breakfast before we finish this. Would that be alright?"

Erik watched her for a moment before reaching his hand out to her and she took it. He brought it up to his lips in unspoken thanks. "That would be lovely, my dear."

* * *

_"I have to go home now. My mother will be looking for me."_

_"The devil she will! Have you a little coffin all made up for you, will she?"_

_"Coffin?"_

_"That's where corpses sleep, isn't it? Now there's an idea! I'll have a coffin made up for the cage. No harm in heightening the effect with a prop or two…"_

_Erik heard the words and saw his younger self staring after Javert's retreating form. "No… please no…" he whispered._

_Children surrounded his younger self, poking and prodding the boy with sticks. "What's the matter? It can't get out!"_

_Erik found the cage doors suddenly slamming in around himself and his younger form was no longer there. "I'm… not a creature," he whispered into the darkness. "Please… Christine, where are you?"_

_Javert appeared over him. "You really think she'll come to help **you**?" He began to laugh as Erik found himself cowering in the corner, away from the man who hadn't bothered to haunt his dreams in years, but suddenly…

* * *

_

"Erik?"

A set of mismatched eyes flew open and the Phantom of the Opera startled awake. "Christine!" he gasped.

His angel stood over him, fear written onto her face. Her hands shook as she reached out to him and he gathered her in his arms. "Are you… I heard you scream something horrible," she cried softly.

"I'm alright."

"Were they always this bad?"

"The dreams? No…" He forced a smile. "Don't worry on my account, Christine. My love, please." He kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. She leaned in and kissed him, causing all of the fear from a few moments before to dissipate.

The kiss was broken when a bell sounded and Erik was up in an instant. Christine all but fell out of his lap that she had settled into. "What is it?"

"Who would be more appropriate, love," he responded as he reached for his cape. "Don't worry. I'll see what visitor we have."

Christine watched him move out of the house and in the direction of the lake. She prayed silently that it was merely Nadir come for an unexpected visit.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Second chapter done. When I started this, I really only started with a title and a very VERY general idea as to what this would be about, but last night as I was supposed to be sleeping, my mind began running over new ideas and it's coming into place now. If anyone hasn't read Kay's novel and if I don't make it clear enough who the Gypsy characters are, let me know. I'll explain.

TS

* * *

LostSchizophrenic :Glad you like how it's started. The only problem that I have with writing late is that I don't sleep well anyway, so I need tons of sleep, but oh well. I made it through the day.

Mariah:Glad to! I'm just glad that I could come up with something :o

WildPixieChild16:Love your name. Very cool. A guy at my school calls my best friend and I the "pixies" b/c we go off on laughing fits. Haha! Very fun. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!


	3. Talk of the Fair

**Chapter Two:Talk of the Fair

* * *

**

The gondola came up on the shore and Erik's eyes came to focus on the figure of the man that had rung the bell. It was not Nadir, that he was sure of that if nothing else.

The figure looked up at the sound of the boat coming upon the hard ground. He stood and smiled in the darkness. "Hello there!" Raoul greeted. "I do hope I'm not intruding. I assumed that no one would come if you were both busy."

Erik felt himself relax and he let out a breath he hadn't realized was being held. "We weren't expecting you."

"Well yes," Raoul answered with a chuckle, stepping closer to a man he had once feared and despised. "I came home a couple days early and came nearly strait here. Meg…" He blushed, ducking his head in the darkness. "Well I came strait here. Might I come in or would I be imposing?"

"Not at all." Erik tilted his head towards the boat, a silent command for the aristocrat to board. It was hard to believe that a little over a year before the same man had barged into the underground chamber and demanded Christine back. Now he entered with full invitation, coming to see a child hood friend and her husband. How times changed.

"Meg was practicing when I arrived," Raoul was saying. "Her mother all but chased me out. Tell me, did Madame Giry and Nadir…?"

Erik cocked an eyebrow as he steered the gondola down the passages. "I wouldn't know. I tend to let them keep their own affairs to themselves."

Raoul chuckled nervously. "Yes… Well…"

Silence reigned for the next few moments before the boat pulled up on the opposite shore, the two men met by an eager Christine. Her eyes lit up as all worry fled from them and was replaced with joy. "Raoul! Oh Meg will be ecstatic!"

He grinned at her and took her hand, bringing it to his lips but never quite letting them touch. "She was. I'm quite sorry, Christine, but I did make a stop before coming down here to see the two of you."

"As well you should have!" the diva responded with a smile. "Oh it is wonderful to see you, Raoul! How was your trip? Is London nice this time of year? Meg has spoken of nothing but you, you know."

"Has she really?"

"Oh yes!"

Erik rolled his eyes, sighed, and started towards the house in an otherwise silent manner. Christine laughed at this, grasping his hand before he walked too far. She held tightly to it. "Don't be rude, Erik!" she chastised lightly and tugged him closer, placed his captured hand over her heart, her two smaller hands holding it there.

A smile touched his lips as she did this. "Well then stop the gossip and hurry on in."

Ten minutes later they sat together in the main room - Christine and Erik together on the couch and Raoul in a chair – sipping tea as if they had all been lifelong friends and never once thought of each other as enemies. Well, to the untrained eye it might have looked that way…

Raoul, who had been in England on business since two days after the wedding, had returned early with a success on his young record and a mind to sweep Meg off her feet with the roses he had brought to her. Apparently he had been "asked" by Madame Giry to leave them for the young dancer, as she was practicing then. He had only caught a glimpse of her before being shuffled out and told to come back in a bit.

"I was thinking," the vicomte was saying, "about taking Meg to the fair."

"The fair?" Christine echoed as she sipped her tea.

Raoul nodded, eyes bright. "Yes! Did you not know they were in town? A group of Gypsies. A fair, a circus, or what have you, it looks entertaining. Perhaps the two of you could come along?"

Erik had tensed at the mention of the Gypsies being there in Paris, and Christine had not missed it. She reached over to him, looping her arm through hers in subtle contact that would not draw her old friend's attention. She opened her mouth to find a plausible excuse, but her husband beat her to it.

"I fear that I would not make a good companion out and about," he said stiffly.

Raoul's eyes widenedandturned towards the mask that covered half of the Phantom's face."I suppose it is a good thing that I hardly notice or think about it anymore," he mused quietly and sighed. "Perhaps in the evening, after the sun sets? I believe these things do stay open rather late. Christine, do you have an open night tonight?"

"Oh… I really… I… We..." she fumbled.

"My dear, would you like to go?" Erik asked softly. Christine turned her eyes to him, silent words passing.

"Do you remember the fair that came through when we were little, Christine?" Raoul asked, laughing. "Your papa took us and I do believe my brother nearly had apoplexy."

Christine smiled at this. "Yes… You came back all covered in mud and grime. Papa thought nothing of it. 'Little boys should be allowed to run and play and certainly to have a bit of fun!'" she said with the best impression she could muster of her beloved father.

Raoul smiled fondly. "Quite! So shall we?"

The diva's smile faded suddenly and she turned her eyes to Erik. He set his tea cup on the tray. "You appear to have pleasant memories of it."

"Have you never been?" Raoul asked, looking for half a moment that he might have realized that he'd hit upon something better left alone.

"Yes," Erik answered tightly. "Yes I have." He turned to his wife and gave her the best smile he could bring forth. It was on his lips, but it did not meet his eyes. "You have pleasant memories," he repeated, "and perhaps I should form some."

Christine knew he did not mean it. He was doing all he could to keep it hidden.

"It's settled then!" Raoul announced, still completely oblivious after all. "What night aren't you performing, Christine?"

"I'm still off… from the wedding…" she whispered, feeling as if she were betraying Erik as she did so. "I shan't be going back until week after next."

"Then tonight night then? Shall that work? I really don't know how long they'll be in town and if we wait too long they might leave."

Erik shrugged, an air of indifference cloaking him. "There's nothing I was planning to do this evening that can't be done later on."

"Good good!" Raoul said with a smile. "Well, the girls should be done, so I should be up to see Meg."

"Of course."

* * *

"_You _were the one to agree!" Christine all but yelled as she chased after him, his long stride causing her to have to quicken her pace. "Erik! Don't do this, please! Talk to me!"

He whirled around on her with such intensity that she stumbled back. "I agreed because _your_ vicomte wouldn't let it drop!"

She sighed heavily, regaining her footing. "Erik, don't… Don't play the 'your vicomte' card! If you'd just _talk_ to me! Why won't you?"

Every muscle was taught, his shoulder drawn back and his back straight. "Because they're my secrets, damn you! My past and my secrets and my fears!" He gasped as the last word left his mouth and he turned away from her.

"Oh Erik…" he heard her sigh, pain lacing her voice. Pain and pity and emotions he was sure he didn't know. She reached a hand out and touched his back, making him jump slightly and try to pull away. Her arms wrapped around his middle, stopping him. She lay her head between his shoulder blades, inhaling his scent. Her breath came out slowly and it seemed to calm him as he took her hands that were around his middle and brought them up to his lips, pressing her palms to them in a gentle kiss. She smiled and he sighed.

"My dear," he breathed, exhaustion filling those two words. "I'm sorry."

"As am I."

"And it is you that have no reason to be!" he exclaimed, turning towards her and pulling her closely. "My foolish fears…"

She placed a finger on his lips, hushing him. "Please, love, I do not think any of your fears are foolish. They always seem to have merit to them, but please, I cannot help you – as a good wife should, shouldn't she? – through them if you don't tell me. I know that, as horrible as it must have been, there is more to the story you began earlier."

"Yes," the Phantom whispered.

"Must I ask you through every step of it?" she grumbled into his shirt. She looked upward. "What is it, Erik? After all we've been through, do you still not trust me?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Erik began to tremble slightly in her embrace and she looked up to see his eyes far away. She hugged him close, a sudden fear coming over her. She wasn't sure why, but it was there. Unwarranted. Unmerited. But there, never the less.

* * *

A/N: I opened up my email this morning and found 36 emails there. THIRTY SIX! I've never had that many emails! Not that had anything that I wanted in them, at any rate! And 35 were reviews! Hugs to all my lovely reviewers! I love you all!

LostSchizophrenic :Yes, well Erik is sympathizing with us as well, though he doesn't want to. To not be able to sleep is a terrible enough thing, but what if every time you closed your eyes a nightmare came at you? Makes me glad for my very normal lack of sleep.

Cmdr. Gabe E.:hugs: You are awesome! I had so many reviews from you this morning! And they were all so nice! Thank you thank you thank you! Haha! The coffin… I remember when I first read the original book I freaked out. "He sleeps in a coffin!" lol! But I love his comment to Christine in Kay's book. "It's a Persian Cat's Cradle." Hehe… Good Erik! Keep her calm! I would have freaked, maybe. Most of my details come from Kay's book as I like it better, but I'm glad you liked it :)

Golden Lyre:But I love cliffhangers… :sulks:

Jo:Thanks very much!

Lynx Ryder:The coffin's not my fault! I swear! It's in the original book and in Kay's! He slept in a coffin! Or, as I told someone else and as Erik describes it in Kay's novel, a "Perisan Cat's Cradle" which it's not, but it calmed Christine's hysterics down and made her laugh. I got rid of it as soon as possible lol. I'm terrible about reviewing b/c I'm like "must see the next chapter!" so I never review… :sigh: so you're much better than I.

Thanks

TS


	4. The Old Fortune Teller

**Chapter Three: The Old Fortune Teller

* * *

**

_The darkness surrounded him. Swallowing him. Pulling him under the waves of fear. "Christine…" he found himself moaning. "Christine, where are you?"_

_"She won't hear you."_

_Erik turned around, his cape swirling around. Javert stood with his fat face twisted into a horrible smile. A chuckle came from his throat and echoed. "She won't hear you, and if she did, why would she come? Why would she want to see a corpse?"_

_He Phantom stiffened. "She would come."_

_"She hates you."_

_"No!"_

_"How could she not! You're hideous!"_

_"Christine…"_

_

* * *

_

Erik jerked awake, eyes flying open and sitting up on he couch in which he'd fallen asleep on. He could find no sign of the man that had haunted his dreams. He put his hands to his face, leaning into them and propping his elbows on his knees. A sigh escaped his lips.

"Erik?"

He turned to see Christine standing there, hand stretched out towards him. He grasped it and brought it up to the smooth side of his face, leaning into her touch.

"Erik, what's going on?" she whispered into his ear, face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his skin. "Last night. Every time you lay down today. Is this to go on? I know you have no slept well in nights before. For the same reason? Erik, his can't go on."

He looked at her, his mismatched eyes meeting her tear filled blue ones. "My love, I'm sorry to worry you."

"I'm worried for your sake," she whispered, caressing his face. "Perhaps we should not go tonight. I could say I have a horrible headache. That would work, don't you think? Meg and Raoul can go alone and they'll have a lovely time."

"You seemed to want to go."

"Not if it will cause you more distress."

Erik pulled her down so that she sat next to him and her head fell to his shoulder, her hand clutching his. "Going to the fair this evening… perhaps it will put the ghosts behind me."

"It won't be worse?"

The Phantom shook his head, kissing her hand softly. "No, my dear. I should think not."

They did not discuss it again in the afternoon before the sun set and they made their way up to ground level to meet Raoul and Meg. Little Giry's face lit up at the sight of Christine and they embraced, Christine leaning in to whisper something into her ear. Meg nodded and they were off.

Erik pulled his cloak closer to his face and his hat that he wore down as they walked through Paris' streets. Christine touched his arm, easing some tension. He looked down one her, her eyes smiling up at him he and allowed a smile of his own to cross his lips. She was there. The looks of distrust and fear didn't matter. As long as she was there.

"This looks amazing!" Meg gasped as they entered the fair grounds. "Look, Christine! Look at the man with the fire!"

The girls laughed and giggled like schoolgirls as they watched the Gypsies perform for them.

"No one's looking, you know."

Erik turned abruptly from his place where he'd been watching Christine. "What?"

"Since we walked from he opera house, you've been looking about, watching everyone as if they might suddenly form a mob and come after you," Raoul chuckled. "No one's watching you, no one's even noticed."

"It wouldn't be the first time a mob was formed against me simply because I keep a mask over my face," Erik growled. "And even more so if they know what lies under it."

The aristocrat shrugged. "People – not that there are many here tonight – are far too intrigued by the performers to look at you."

Erik looked away from the slightly smaller man. "I hope you're right."

"About what?" Christine's questioning voice met his ears.

He turned to her, feeling slightly ashamed. He'd come for her and he would not let his own paranoia of the human race ruin their time. "Nothing, my dear," he said with a small smile. He wrapped an arm around her and she relaxed in his embrace. "What would you like to see next, my angel?"

Christine stood in thought for a long moment. If she had decided on their next viewing, her request was cut short by a raindrop that splattered the tip of her nose. She laughed at this and looked up, seeing the clouds that were rolling in for the first time. "I'd say," she began as she turned to look a her husband, "somewhere dry." As soon as he words had left her mouth, the sky opened up. A deluge fell on them, forcing them to move quickly to the nearest tent.

The girls were laughing by the time they reached it, everyone one of them soaked. Well, all except Erik that had moved a bit quicker and had managed to avoid the gush of water that had fallen on the other three from the of the tent.

Christine beamed. "That was wonderful!" she announced with a giggle. "Perhaps every day at the fair is meant to end in mud and grime!"

Erik shook his head with a silent smile on his lips. In one quick motion he pulled his cloak from his shoulders and draped it around his wife's. She looked up, startled. "Erik… I thought you were worried about-"

Her husband shook his head. "I'd rather have people gawk than have my lovely young wife catch a cold and spend the rest of her time off in bed."

She blushed at his thoughtfulness and pulled the far-too-big cloak around her much smaller shoulders. "Thank you," she said quietly, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Raoul chucked. "Meg, my dear, I would offer you my jacket, but I fear that it is as wet as you are."

The ballerina laughed at this. "Well we shall both suffer colds then, if we must. It was well worth it, I assure you."

"Won't you come to the fortune able?" a haggard voice said from behind. They turned to see a little old woman, bent with age, standing there, her gnarled hand stretched out to them.

"Fortune?" Christine echoed.

"Only two francs."

Erik rolled his eyes. "It's a scam, Christine. Believe me, I could tell you each trick they pull on you."

The old woman smiled. "Give me your hand, sir, and I will tell you about yourself. For free to show I am no sham."

"It's not worth my time," Erik growled.

The old lady snatched up his hand with a quicker motion than anyone would have though and tore his glove from it. He started to pull away, but she began to speak. "Your name is Erik," she began.

"Christine said my name just a bit ago," Erik countered.

The woman's eyes closed and the touch of her hand on his cool skin made him shiver in revulsion. He began tug, but her voice came forth again. "Angel of Doom. Angel of Music. Phantom of the Opera and Opera Ghost, all names you have held. Many a name to one face. One face that no one may see."

Erik's mismatched eyes widened in horror and he pulled away. "This is insane," he growled. "Leave me be, old woman."

She cackled as he turned his back on her. "Javert's murderer."

He stopped dead still, silence reigning through the tent. He turned slowly, eyes narrowed. "What?"

"We found him dead the next morning," she answered him with an evil grin. "Dead as could be, cold and rotting. Found the blood on he ground and his eyes rolled back. The little boy had done it, we were sure, because the little corpse was nowhere to be seen."

"Enough!" Erik yelled, his voice echoing ominously. "Enough." He turned to leave, Christine taking his hand, worry etched onto her fair features.

They left in the rain, returning to the opera house that evening in silence. Raoul and Meg bid the couple good evening, doing well not to ask about what he old hag had said. It was not until they had reached their underground home and Ayesha had greeted them, bringing forth no reaction from Erik, that Christine had laid a gentle hand on his arm.

He turned, eyes filled with unshed tears. His knees buckled under him and she sank to the ground with him, holding him as he sobbed openly in her arms.

* * *

A/N: I'm so far behind on my Phantom viewings… last night was only my 4th time :sigh:

* * *

Cmdr. Gabe E:Oh something has to give the happy ending a run for it's money or it wouldn't make it a good story! There'd be no plot, just fluff, on which I am certainly no apposed to. Lol.

Lost Schizophrenic :Well, he went, and now he's sorry he did. Lol. Poor poor Erik. No rest for him.

Alicia Miller:Thanks so much :)

GoldenLyre:Hehe… yeah, poor Erik doesn't get away from his past very easily does he?

Clever Lass:My pleasure :)

Lynx Ryder:There's still a bit of tension between Erik and Raoul, obviously, but it would make since hat Erik would be a bit more at ease seeing as he's married Christine and Raoul's found someone else to keep him happy… Ah well, poor them with a mini-fight, but at least it didn't end too poorly, the fight, I mean

India Pyro: Okay lol.


	5. On the rooftops above

**Chapter Four: On the Rooftops Above

* * *

**

She had finally gotten him settled onto the couch where she could keep a careful eye on him. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately, though begged through his wariness that she stay with him for a bit. Christine had smiled down at him and stroked his hair back lovingly, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

That had been some hours ago and now she woke to find him gone. She had not meant to fall asleep, but sleep had come to claim her when she sat tiredly into a chair, meaning to watch over him as _he_ slept.

Christine stood and walked quickly through the house, calling his name and receiving no response. At last she noted the missing cape from its usual place. She frowned and grabbed her own cloak, draping it around her shoulders, and hurried upward toward the surface, leaving a short, scribbled note in case he returned to find her gone.

He was where she thought he might be: on he opera house's roof. He sat with his back pressed to a large statue, one knee pulled up to his chest and his arm resting upon it, bare hand dangling limply there. His eyes were distant as she came closer, whispering his name.

Erik turned, startled, but no anger came as once might have. Only a soft expression of complete adoration and love. Then his lips turned downward. "My dear, you shall catch your death!" he murmured.

"It's not raining anymore," Christine pointed out.

"True, but the cold lingers." Erik hopped down from his perch and held a hand out to her. She took it willingly and felt herself being pulled into his strong arms and against his broad chest. She sighed contently.

"Erik," she breathed.

"Yes?"

"You're warm."

He gave her a questioning look and she pulled away, her hand reaching upward to his face. "My word, Erik!" she gasped. "Oh I knew I should have gotten you to change from those wet clothes before you fell asleep."

He smiled down at her, kissing the top of her head. "I don't believe either of us had a choice in the matter."

"Did you dream?"

"Yes."

"What about?"

Erik sighed. "Don't ask me that, my love. Please."

"Let's go back down," she whispered, pressing her cheek against his chest. "You need sleep and I'm certainly no opposed to it either."

"It's nearly morning, love."

"So?" she asked with a smile. "We'll sleep the day away if it so pleases us. No Gypsies. No nightmares. No worries. Just us." She sighed. "And that blasted fever of yours we'll have to get down. You told me once that you had naturally good health other than the trouble the morphine caused."

"I do!" Erik responded. "Most of the time…"

"Well, you have to get well quickly."

"Why's that?" he murmured as he pulled her close to him, starting down the stairs.

"Because we promised Madeleine that we would have her for tea and we can't very well do that if you're ill."

He smiled. "Now there's an idea…"

Christine groaned dramatically before giving into a laugh. "You, sir, are impossible!"

* * *

"Christine!"

Christine turned to see Meg running towards her, down the hallway of the opera house. "Hello there!" she greeted cheerfully.

Meg put a finger to her lips, silencing her friend. "The old lady!"

"What?"

"I've seen her here! The one that spoke to Erik so funny the night before last."

Christine stared at her smaller friend, eyes locked. "Here? At the opera house?"

"Yes! She came up to me this morning, asking me where she might find you and Erik. I've been looking for you since she came, to warn you. Where were you yesterday?"

"I have the time off," Christine reminded her.

"Well, yes, but you always come up."

"We… Oh Erik got himself sick, giving me his cape and all, and then he went straight to sleep once we returned home. I've been trying to get him to lie down and drink that foul stuff he's always shoving down _my _throat when _I'm_ sick."

Meg giggled at this, but then her face turned serious. "Perhaps you should both lie low for a few days?"

"I'll ask him what he thinks best," Christine responded. "I should get back. Have a good day and keep an eye out for me, won't you, Meg?"

"Of course!"

As Christine disappeared down the hall and through a secret door, she did not notice the eyes that followed her. They trailed her movements until the secret panel clicked shut, and then the old woman was gone.

* * *

A/N: Just a warning to all: my "t" button isn't working well. Forgive me if a lot of words get cut off because of it. I've been trying to catch it, but I'm not succeeding.

Golden Lyre:Yeah… kinda creepy. And ya know, I picture her creepier in my head than I've yet to describe. :shivers:

Mariah:Well… considering most of my stuff does not come from the original Phantom of the Opera book, but from the ALW productions and the book by Susan Kay, cannon may not be what you get with me. Lol. I was going to go one of two ways with Raoul, with no real middle ground. I was either going to kill him off because I really can't stand him in the book, or I was going to give him someone to keep him occupied so he wouldn't stalk Christine. While it would be another bit to the story, that would get really old really fast, I think. For this story anyway. I'm really not going to say yes or no on the question about the old woman being the lady Erik learned from, because wasn't she ancient when he met her? And that would have been forty-some-odd-years before… But if you would like to picture her as such, feel free. It's open to the reader's imagination for now. And you'll have to see why this old lady's bugging him. She's quite persistent, ne? hehe…


	6. Tea

**Chapter Five: Tea

* * *

**

"You've been quiet," Erik's voice sounded in her ears.

Christine turned, eyes finding his. "Have I?"

"Yes. What troubles you?"

The diva took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I saw Meg a bit ago…" she began slowly. She stood and moved to where her husband lay half-reclined on the sofa. He turned his unmasked face slightly away from her out of habit, but she reached a hand around and pulled him to face her again, kissing his cheek softly, her mind reminding her gentlythat only time would heal those wounds. "She said the old woman fromthe fairhas been here… Asking about us. Where to find us and such."

Erik growled something under his breath in a language Christine did not understand. Then he turned back to her. "We have two options, as I see it." She watched him, waiting silently for him to continue, so he did. "Find her before she finds us. Demand to know what it is that she wants, and deal with it accordingly."

"What's the second option?"

A glint of mischief appeared in Erik's mismatched eyes. "We could always reactivate the mirror room and show her the way."

"Erik!" Christine gasped, trying not to laugh. "You shouldn't jest so!"

He smiled and pulled her down to the he sofa, kissing her softly. The kiss deepened and she found herself pinned under him suddenly, his breath warm against her skin as his kisses traced her jaw line. "Who says I jest?" he murmured.

"Ah! You!" Christine grumbled as she pushed him off of her with a mock glare.

He tumbled back, not at all ready for her movement. His eyes were wide as he sat on the floor, staring up at her, unsure of what her actions meant.

His wife's playful gaze softened and she knelt next to him on the ground. "I love you," she whispered as she kissed him again, arms wrapped around his neck.

Erik melted into her embrace and pulled her closer. "And I you," he murmured into her ear.

"Erik?" Christine whispered to him, her voice soft in his ear. "Since you seem to be feeling better, might I beg you for a song?"

Her husband smiled down on her, kissing the tip of her nose gently. "If I could beg for an angel to accompany it."

She beamed up at him and they stood together, Erik replacing his mask. Christine frowned. "Erik… You don't have to," she murmured. "It's just us."

"Habit, my love."

"A habit that could be broken. I don't like not being able to see you when you play. Please."

"You'd rather see the monster's face instead?" the Phantom scoffed, his voice bordering on harsh.

"You know that's not what I mean! Oh hang it all, Erik, you can be impossible sometimes. Leave he bloody thing on if I makes you feel better!" she growled, exhasperaed.

Erik took her up in his strong arms and she fell into his embrace. "My love, just like with he nightmares, you must give me time. My life… All my life…"

"I know," she answered quickly, tears glistening in her eyes. "Can we sing, Erik? Please? It always makes us both feel better."

Music filled the house a few moments later. Music that moved the soul and when their voices joined it they were lost to all else. A gentle wave moved them, lulling them, and Christine felt as if her knees might give way. It was from _Don Juan Triumphant_. One of the more seductive songs, but which was not out of that play? She felt Erik's eyes on her as she sang, her voice stretching further than she had ever before and filling the house with its strength. When his voice once again joined hers she reached out a small hand to his shoulder, craving to touch him in some form or fashion. Anything, as long as she felt him.

The sound of the organ stopped abruptly and Christine's eyes flew open. Erik was watching something behind her and she turned to see Madeleine standing with her eyes lulling as if she had been pulled into a trance by their voices. Her eyes opened suddenly to their fullness and a blush crept across her cheeks.

Christine was the first to find her voice. "Madeleine! How lovely to see you."

"How on earth did you find your way down here?" Erik demanded softly, mismatched eyes watching her intently.

"Madame Giry showed me the way down," she managed. "I'm sorry to have interrupted. I tried the bell earlier and no one answered, so I sought her out and she brought me down a different path. I thought perhaps no one was here, so I was going to leave a note…"

"About tea!" Christine gasped, realization striking. "Oh dear… I meant to send a note to you!"

Madeleine managed a smile. "No, it's quite all right, my dear. You've been… busy. I shouldn't want to disturb you both."

"You have," Erik snapped, standing abruptly. What was Madame Giry thinking showing her he way down to their home? He'd have a word with the old woman, mark that. He stood seething for a moment.

"Erik!" his wife hissed.

He ignored her as he moved away.

"Erik, please! She didn't mean to interrupt."

"But she did," he grumbled, knowing as he said it how pathetic it sounded, even to his own ears.

"I'm sorry," Madeleine said meekly. "I truly thought you'd both be out. Though, if I might say, you two sing beautifully together. Who wrote that piece?"

"Erik did!" Christine answered cheerfully. "It's his life's work."

"You were always a genius," his mother mused almost sadly. "Might we hear it on stage?"

"A bit of it was performed," Erik answered shortly.

"A bit? How does a bit of an opera get performed?"

Christine smiled. "Well, a bit was performed twice, if you'd like to be more accurate. We had…interruptions both times."

Madeleine, wisely, dropped the subject at that. Instead she turned her eyes onto the main room in which they sat. The Persian rugs, the organ that had been moved from Erik's – now Erik and Christine's – bedroom, the beautiful furniture, the books, and the music monkey in Persian robes. Her eyes finally turned to Ayesha, who was hissing and spatting at her from the back of the couch. The aging woman let out a startled gasp as the cat glared at her, but her eyes softened. "Is she Siamese? I didn't think they had them here after the war." She reached out her hand to the animal. "It's all right. Come here, sweetie. I won't hurt-" Her gentle coaxing was cut short as the cat leapt forward, caught in mid air by her master.

"My dear!" Erik scolded Ayesha lightly and she seemed to look somewhat repentant.

Christine laughed at the interaction. "That cat gets the best treatment in this home than anyone! It could maul someone and all Erik would say was 'My dear!' and all would be well again."

Her husband chuckled at this, setting Ayesha down again. "One would think you were jealous of the cat, my love."

"Jealous… no," Christine answered at length. "For she does not sing for you."

This brought a smile to her Phantom's lips and he forced himself to turn back to Madeleine before his emotions took him captive.

"So when shall we get together for tea?" Christine asked abruptly. "Or should we just say now, since you're here and all? Erik, do you feel well enough?"

Madeleine's eyes turned to look directly at her son. "Well enough?"

"He's been ill," Christine answered, knowing that Erik might not. "Being the gentleman that he is, he gave me his cape in the rain the other night."

"About the tea," Erik cut in, sending a glare towards his wife that made her smile apologetically at him.

"That would be lovely," Madeleine answered with a smile.

"Oh, Madeleine!" Christine said suddenly. "Whatever you do, don't drink the Russian tea!"

"Why not?"

"There's no reason," Erik grumbled. "Christine simply has very little taste when it comes to tea. English tea with sugar… bah!"

This sent Christine into a giggling fit, causing Erik to smile and leaving Madeleine perfectly confused at the private joke between the two lovers. For the couple of brief hours that followed, all was how it should be. But as all know, that can never last for long.

* * *

Jo:I always manage to do this… the characters I hate the most, I make likable because I have a highly misguided idea that everyone should be happy in the end, if not dead. :sigh: I'm glad this is original! Something I always strive fore :)

LostSchizophrenic:And more is here!

GoldenLyre:If she left them alone, my plot would go down the drain. Lol! Oh, I wrote the last bit at night, and so when my lights were turned out I half expected to be seeing a creepy old lady with the whole witch works, ya now? Glowing eyes, crazy white hair that would give Medusa a run for her money, crooked nose with a wart or two on it, creepy hands with long pointed nails reaching down to you as you sleep in your bed, her cackling voice making its way into your dreams…. "Double double toil and trouble…" Okay, maybe not. Lol! That's just what I expect to see after writing it, maybe not the whole McBeth flashbacks, but something close to it! Hehe

IndiaPyro: Sure thing.

Lynx Ryder:sobs: where'd you go:looks for you:


	7. The Old Woman in the Opera

**Chapter Six: The Old Woman in the Opera House

* * *

**

_Two mismatched eyes fluttered open to come to focus on darkness. Somehow, as dreams are odd in that way, his mind told him that he was closed up in whatever it was that held him. Erik felt his breath hitch._

_"It's only a dream."_

_He shoved as hard as he could at the lid and felt himself stumble out. An upright coffin stared back at him and the bars of a cage surrounded him._

_"It's only a dream."_

_His breath came quickly, in gulps. Panic set in as wild eyes darted from corner to corner, seeing people pointing, laughing, mocking, and jeering. Everything seemed o swim._

_"It's only a-"_

_"Dream," Javert's mocking voice echoed as the people seemed to fade. "Only a dream and only a nightmare. Tell me, little corpse, what will happen when the nightmare turns to reality and reality turns to the nightmare?" He chuckled at the younger man's fearful expression and everything seemed to explode into red. Blood red. It fell down he walls. Washed through the cage bars. It swallowed him. Suffocating him. Pulling it down into it's depths and drowning him…_

_

* * *

_

"Erik please! Wake up!"

Christine's voice met his ears as he came to, his eyes blinking in confusion. He took in a shaky breath and reached an unsteady hand up to her face. She took it in her own instantly, pulling it to her face and leaning into it.

"Please don't hide anymore, Erik," she murmured, kissing the palm of his hand. Her lips moved down the long scar that snaked from his palm to his wrist, tears mixing with kisses. "Please."

His breathes were sill coming in near gasps and his eyes were wide and staring at her. They seem to loose focus as he seemed to relax and she feared he might pass out. He did not, however, but began to speak. "I told you that I had been taken by the Gypsies. The took my mask and I found myself on show, though I wouldn't show my face. Javert – yes, my dear, the same that the old witch spoke of – tied me up so that I could no hide. He strung me up to the bars with my hands out…" Erik shuddered, looking away from his wife. "Not a time I look fondly upon, Christine."

"You killed him," Christine stated quietly.

"I had no choice."

"You were nine, Erik." Her voice was sad and as she turned her eyes toward him he saw the unshed tears. She had cried too much lately and he felt responsible. She wrapped her arms around him with such a fierce passion that he fell back from where he'd been sitting. "You were nine! What horrors did you see and live through to cause you to take another man's life a nine?"

"I wasn't nine," he answered. "I was twelve."

A new bout of anguish seemed to wash over her. "Three years in that place? What happened, Erik?"

Erik glared down at the floor, his entire body shaking. "Please, love… Not that. I swear to you I shall tell you anything but what caused me to kill that man. No lady should hear it."

"I am not just some lady, but your wife," Christine said sternly.

"I beg of you…"

Her lips were suddenly pressed against his, silencing his plea. It didn't matter if it hurt him so. If she never found out, if she never knew, it simply wouldn't matter.

* * *

"Madame! I must ask you to leave! You are frightening our guests and our performers. Madame! Do you hear me?" Firmin roared at last.

The old Gypsy woman turned to him, dark eyes looking no more than hollows in the strange lighting. "I shall not leave 'till I see him!"

"See who?" Andre demanded.

"Erik."

"Who's Erik?"

"Erik is Erik."

"Madame."

The three people turned to see Madame Giry sanding with her head held high and what looked like a walking stick in her hand. Her eyes were narrowed. "Most that are wise leave him be, Madame."

"Then you know Erik!" the old witch howled.

"I know him well enough that he would like his past to rest and he will do what he needs to have that done. Will you join the shah that died a few months back because he brought about Erik's past?"

"The Shah!" Firmin gasped. "You mean this Erik is the Opera Ghost?"

"Hush, Monsieur!" Madame Giry hissed, putting one aging finger to her lips.

"Take me to him!" the old hag demanded. "Take me to Erik."

"Perhaps you should be kinder to the woman you make demands of," a voice boomed all around.

The managers looked about, trying to find the source of the voice they were sure was the opera ghosts'. Erik stepped from he shadows at last, his eyes blazing beneath his porcelain mask. "It is not polite," he said lowly, "to enter one's home and _demand_ that they make an appearance. You will find I am not a social person."

"You!" the witch gasped. "Javert's murderer!"

"Who?" Andre questioned.

"None of your concern."

The old lady cackled. "You look unwell, Erik. You look as if you have slept little. Do the dreams haunt you still? Do they chase sleep away? Not even that lovely lady can help that, can she, try as she might! Christine will-"

"I will no hear _her_ name from _your_ lips!" Erik roared.

A twisted smile crossed the haggard features. "Christine will not help you this time. Men always want a chance to destroy what they don't understand." She reached out her hand, closed palm turned downward. When her gnarled fingers opened and explosion let forth and sparks leapt from the floor. She was gone.

"Where…?" Andre and Firmin gasped, looking around and at each other in fear. "What kind of magic is this?"

"None at all," Erik answered easily. "Tricks. Very simple tricks. Good evening, gentlemen."

"You! Erik!" Firmin shouted.

Erik turned on his heals, eyes blazing in anger. He watched the two managers shrink back in fear. "You would do well, monsieurs, to forget that name."

"Then Phantom," Firmin pressed on, fear still edging his voice. "Mademoiselle Daaè… when will she be returning?"

"Soon enough." Then he was gone.

* * *

LostSchizophrenic: Glad to hear you like the interaction. I plan to bring Nadir in here pretty soon. :huggles Nadir: He's so great!

Gonden Lyre: Now is that good or bad about Mcbeth? I raher liked the play (haven't actually seen it performed, sadly enough, but read the script and loved it) Oh that's no fun! Read it at nigh with haunting music in the background! The Phantom theme music at the VERY least! HEhe...

IndiaPyro: I introduced Erik's mother in "Ghosts of the Past". They had a lovely little fight, or several. Hehe Enjoy.


	8. ch 7

**Chapter Seven: (couldn't think of a title for this one….)

* * *

**

"I don't likeit at all," Christine mumbled as she sipped at her tea. "He's been brooding for two days now. Since he saw that old woman upstairs. I don't know what to do, Meg. Nadir came yesterday and tried to bring him out of it, but all he would do was play harder and louder. He's working on _Don Juan Triumphant_ again…"

"I thought he'd finished."

"He did, but the scores burned in the fire. He had to start over."

Meg sighed. "His way of shutting absolutely everyone out, I suppose."

"But, Meg!" Christine protested, "I'm his wife! Why would he shut me out?"

Her younger friend smiled warily. "We both know he loves you, Christine, but remember that he's had a hard life… So many years of torment… Has he still not told you about his nightmares?"

"He has, somewhat. All but why he would kill Javert. I know that the man must have done something horrible to him. He shakes every time I mention him. It's terrible, Meg, to see him suffer so. He hasn't even tried to sleep. He's so pale… I'm worried."

"Erik can take care of himself, Christine," her friend consoled. "He has for fifty years, right?"

The diva sighed. No, he hadn't taken just perfect care of himself for fifty years… All those times he'd used morphine and opium… How was that caring for his body? She still feared he might have another seizure like he had that first time she'd ripped his mask from his face. What would she do if it happened again? True, he hadn't used morphine in a good while now – he claimed it was she that had done it for him – but the effects could linger for years…

"Christine?"

The young woman in question looked up. "I'm sorry… Yes, I suppose you're right, Meg, though I do worry… You do not know him as I do."

The blond girl giggled at this. "And he is yours to know!"

Christine blushed a deep shade of read. "Meg Giry!"

The two old friends laughed together until the elder finally took her leave, returning down to the cellars of the opera house.

* * *

"Erik?"

Erik spun around, startled out of his near trance state that he'd fallen into with his fingers hovering over the organ keys and the pages of _Don Juan Triumphant _spread out before him. His eyes locked on Madame Giry and he stood with enough force to send the stool flying back. "Is it not enough that you send Madeleine on her way down here and give my name to the managers?" he spat, venom in his voice. "Now you too must impose on my privacy! My word! What shall a man do to have a bit of time to work?"

Madame Giry did not shrink away as most might, but stood firmly. "I sent Madeleine down because you would not answer her rings on that excuse fora bell you have. Heaven knows you push that poor woman to the brink, Erik, with all she's tried to fix with you."

"What business is it of yours?" he growled, stooping to retrieve the stool.

"She is your mother!"

"No, she is the woman that gave birth to me," the Phantom responded as he sat himself back down, his anger freezing to an icy coldness. "A mother cares for her son, in which she never did."

"And she wishes to remedy that. No! Erik, don't you dare. I will have my say, so help me! Heaven knows you've been treated horribly through the years. I know. I've seen it, Erik. Please do not think I've turned against you suddenly. May I?" she asked, indicating toward a chair. When he nodded she pulled it closer and sat in it, her posture straight. "You shall never know a mother's pain, Erik. You have never been one- " he raised an eyebrow at this and she waved off his sly remark– "and that is all on that. You say I gave your name to the managers? What does it matter? The Opera Ghost kept it from them to keep to himself he was only a man. Well, Erik, they knew you were a man. They saw it well enough during that performance over a year ago when Christine…" She tapered off as she noted the shudder passing through his slim frame.

"Get to your point," Erik hissed at last, eyes seeming to glow in the ill lit room.

"Christine is worried about you. Meg had to drag her out to speak with her about it, but anyone can tell."

At this, his shoulders fell and his head drooped. "Yes, I know."

"And you don't even care about that?"

"What am I to do? I cannot stop these dreams. I…"

Madame Giry stood once more, moving closer and covering one of his thin, bony hands with one of her own aging ones. "Remember she loves you, Erik. Remember she lives for you. Love her. Live for her. Not that I need to tell you that, but just remember that it is returned to you from her. When you run yourself ill, she will run herself ill." That said, she turned and left the room.

Erik watched her go, feeling as if the weight of all that had happened – which had been ignored through working himself into exhaustion – had suddenly come crashing down. It was Christine's panicked voice that broke through his new bout of anguish. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway, fear radiating from her.

"Erik! Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"No, my dear," he answered, his voice sounding raspy in his own ears. He cleared his throat and reached a beckoning hand toward her. She ran to him and grasped it immediately, feeling him pull her closer into himself. "I'm sorry my love… I've been horrible towards you."

She hugged his neck, burring her face in his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. I was worried that you were ill again when I saw you sitting like that. You've been so… It doesn't matter now. As long as you're all right."

He smiled, kissing the top of her head. "I'm fine, my love."

She beamed at him a moment and they leaned in for a kiss. The kiss, though, was cut off by the sound of someone ringing the bell from the other side of the lake. Frantically, as if their very life depended on it. Erik stood abruptly. "Stay."

"No!" Christine cried. "Don't make me!"

He glanced back at her and melted at her pleading eyes. "Hurry."

* * *

As the gondola pulled up to the opposite shore, Erik spotted Darius, Nadir's servant, kneeling on the ground. His head was down, dark hair covering his eyes. He looked up when he saw them, stood, and started off in Persian. Erik motioned for him to slow down and he did.

Christine watched the interaction, confused as she could be. When Darius finally stopped his apparent explanation she looked to her husband. "What is it?"

"They've taken Nadir."

* * *

India Pyro: It said earlier than she was on break for her wedding. :)

LostSchizophrenic: Nadir, obviously, will make his appearance in the next chapter. Yay! Poor Nadir…

Cmdr. Gabe E.: Well… he DID murder him… but it was self defense! I take it you've read Kay's book?

Angel of Song: Me too! Javert was so evil! Why couldn't Kay have given him a different name? It made me think of Javert from Le Mis.

FreakenIdiot06: Go read the book! Hehe… I'd highly recommend it, it's amazing. If you don't understand anything, let me know and I'll try to clarify. That's what I've been doing for Lynx Ryder, who also hasn't read it.


	9. This Waking Nightmare

**Chapter Eight: The Waking Nightmare

* * *

**

"Taken Nadir?" Christine echoed quietly. "Why… why would they take Nadir?"

"To get to me," Erik spat, anger apparent in every motion he made. He nodded towards the gondola and Darius shuffled towards it, the poor man barely standing. He'd not let his master go without a fight. "They'd have no reason to take Nadir other than to get to me."

She heard the anguish in her husband's voice and took his hand. "We'll get him back."

Erik shook his head. "We will do nothing. I will go after him. I will not put you in danger. Please understand me on this, Christine."

"No! I will not leave you to your waking nightmares!"

Erik froze in his place, everything but those last two words forgotten. "'Forget this waking nightmare…'" he murmured.

His wife looked up at him, eyes questioning. "What?"

The Phantom shook his head, banishing the old words. She was not Raoul's. She was his. Forever. Wherever she went, he was there and she followed him just the same. "It's nothing," he managed. "Come."

* * *

Nadir's jade eyes fluttered open and he moaned. His head hurt. His back hurt. Everything hurt. "I'm getting far too old for this," he grumbled as he forced himself into a sitting position.

"Lay back, monsieur!"

He jumped at the sound of a small voice and his eyes met those of a young Gypsy girl. She was tiny, far too small for her age, by the looks of her. Thin as if she hardly ate and her eyes seemed too large for her face. They were filled with concern. For who? Him?

"Did you hear me, monsieur? You speak French, no?"

"I do," Nadir managed as he put his face into his hands. "Where am I?'

"In the fair. We're Gypsies."

The Persian tensed. Christine had explained to him what had happened the night of the fair and the woman that had been stalking them since. "The old lady. Where is she?"

"What old lady? There are many."

"The one that has been to the opera house."

"Ah!" the girl. "Dunicha!"

Nadir shrugged. "Is she the one?"

"Yes! Oh she's very mean! She's been after the poor couple… They seemed so happy and she gives him nightmares. She works magic, you know."

"I doubt that. Erik has shown me enough tricks to know they are not magic."

The girl giggled at this. "Dunicha works magic. She hates Erik. I don't know why. I feel sorry for him. Do you know, monsieur, why she hates him?"

"I do not."

Her small shoulders slumped at this. "Oh… well… I suppose we'll find out soon enough, right?"

"Why's that?"

"He'll come for you."

Nadir chuckled. "Erik is no fool."

"But he is your friend! Of course he will come." With that the child left, skipping from the tent and leaving the bound Persian to his own thoughts and worries.

* * *

"You expect to go alone?"

Erik shot Raoul a sharp look before moving quickly to the other side of his study, intent on looking for something. He and Christine had sat Darius down with a cup of his Russian tea just as Meg and Raoul had poked their heads in. Unannounced, per the usual. It was grating on the Phantom's last nerve.

"Surely not!" Meg argued, looking to her best friend. "We should go with you."

"Why? To get in the way?" Erik bit out, grabbed what he needed and moved away. "Perhaps… perhaps you can make yourselves useful."

Meg smiled broadly. "How?"

"Stay with Darius. And don't touch anything."

"I am not staying," Darius said suddenly in halted French. "I will go."

"No," Erik replied sharply, rubbing his left temple in agitation. "Christine and I will go alone. It would be much easier to go by myself, but as Christine was so adamant, I allowed that. I shall not allow more."

Darius stood abruptly, with all of his usual quiet, submissive demeanor lost in his frustration over wanting to help his master and not being able to put those words into French. Finally he sighed and started off in Persian.

Everyone watched as Erik listened, nodding every once and a while, frowning, and then finally relaxing. "Very well then."

"Perhaps we could be on the outskirts, in case you needed help," Raoul offered.

Erik growled something in a language none of them knew. "Fine! But stay out of the way. I warn you, de Chagny, if you end up in my way, so help me…" He left it for the younger man's mind to wander on.

* * *

"Wake up, foreigner."

Nadir felt a cold, bony hand shaking him, though it was not Erik's. It was too small to be Erik's. Antoinette's were not that cold. Whose? He forced his lazy eyes to open slowly. An old woman stooped over him, her withering lips pulled into a disgusting smile, showing off her rotting teeth in all of their repulsiveness. "Dunicha."

"Yes yes!" she agreed with his statement.

"What do you want from us?" Nadir demanded, his heading aching terribly. He hated to think what they'd done to poor Darius.

"I want Erik."

"Obviously."

"Don't be cheeky," she hissed, but the smile returned. "No, you shan't be… Be silent and listen, foreigner. Shh… Do you hear it?"

"I hear nothing, old hag."

"You don't listen then! Quiet! Silence. A little closer. What haunts your dreams? What makes you smile as you dream? What is it you dream of, foreigner?"

Nadir strained his ears, listening. Finally, at the very edges of his senses, he could hear it. A child's laughter. His jade green eyes widened as the flap of the tent opened and a little boy ran in. "Father! Come look! The magician is here! Erik is here! On the outskirts! Have you seen him, Father?" demanded a fully healthy Reza with a bright smile. "Father? Why are you staring?"

The Persian man began to tremble uncontrollably as he stood, reaching out for the boy to come closer. "What sort of trickery is this?" he murmured as the boy obeyed.

"No trickery, Father!" Reza said with a bright smile, but it soon faded. "Why are you crying?"

Nadir shook his head, a smile placed on his lips. "Reza… my son. My little Reza…"

Reza grinned again. "Come see Erik with me, Father. He can make the music man work again."

* * *

Christine stayed close to her husband, moving nearly as silently as he did. They had parted ways with Raoul and Meg some moments ago, the others going to the opposite side of the camp. They'd wait, if needed. If not, they were to leave promptly when the signal was given. Darius was circling around the other side of the tent that Nadir was sure to be in.

"We'll go in quietly," Erik was saying in a low whisper. "And-"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Why on earth not?" her husband demanded.

"Because he's right there," Christine answered, pointing to where Nadir stood in the middle of an empty space.

Erik spotted him and stepped forward slowly, watching everything that moved about him. "Nadir?" he called softly. The Persian's eyes were glazed and he looked as one who walked in a dream. "Nadir?"

A smile crossed the elder man's face. "I don't know what magic it is…" he murmured, sounding delirious. "They brought him back, Erik? Do you see? Don't you see, my friend! They brought him back to me!"

Erik's mismatched eyes widened. "Who, Nadir?" he questioned gently.

"Reza, you blind fool!" Nadir shouted, looking irked. "How did they do it? You know their tricks."

Erik looked to where Nadir had motioned to when he said his dead son's name. Only an empty space met his eyes and a shudder ran through him. He turned to call for Christine, make sure she was all right, but was met by someone else entirely.

"Hello, little corpse," Javert greeted with a malicious grin.

* * *

A/N: And things really get interesting! Okay, now I'm diving into Kay's world, so for those of you who haven't read, I'm terribly sorry. I'll do what I can to tell what will not be explained in the writing itself, and if you don't understand something said, let me know, and I will do what I can to explain. About the only thing thus far that I can think of is Reza, for those that didn't read "Ghosts of the Past" and haven't read Kay's novel either. Reza is Nadir's son, obviously, that was dying in Persia, and he absolutely adored Erik and Erik had a soft spot for the little boy. When his end was approaching, Erik… hurried it along, putting it as gently as I can. Anyway, anything else, let me know.

A/N2: Brownie points to anyone who can guess who Dunchia is. You'll have to have read Kay.

* * *

LostSchizophrenic: The Gypsies took him! And they are NOT being very nice. Hehe…

Cmdr. Gabe E: I can never really guarantee my updating. I've had horrible senioritus (sp?) as of late and so I've been updating, but my moods switch very often, and sometime I'll probably go to writing another genre of fanfiction, but hopefully not soon.

Sue Raven: Thanks :) I like having all the characters in.

India Pyro: The gypsies took him:)

FreakinIdiot06: I like writing cliffhangers. What's really bad is when I write them and then just… forget to update. Lol! Don't plan to be doing that though

Golden Lyre: Why didn't I respond in the last chapter to you:feels really bad: and I had my comment all worked out too…. Anyway, better late then never. Yes, I have seen that movie. And the thought crossed my mind when you said that that Nadir is dark skinned and Muslim like the man (can't remember his name, but loved his character) from the Robin Hood movie. Hehe… maybe Nadir will kill her! Who knows?

Lynx Ryder: Welcome back! Been swamped lately? Okay, about the seizures! In the book:goes to look at book to get it exact: Erik's playing his music and Christine rips his mask off, like in the movie/musical. He actually grabs her by the neck, completely freaking out, and suddenly a seizure hits him and he falls to the ground, overcome by pain. Now, he was an opium addict in Persia to drown out all the bloodshed from his dreams, and he was worried that the opium pipe would ruin his voice so he switched to morphine when he left and was shooting up morphine even when Christine was down in the cellars with him, but he's stopped by the time my story takes place :) But, obviously, a little under thirty years of drug abuse off and on will ruin anyone's body, even our mighty Phantom of the Opera. At the end of the book he actually :bleeps out b/c it's a massive spoiler: email me if ya really want to know :) Hope that helped!


	10. Horrors that fill your dreams

**Chapter Nine: Horrors that Fill Your Dreams

* * *

**

Erik's eyes widened as he stood before Javert. Everything around them faded to blackness and the old man sneered. "Look at you here," he chuckled. "And you thought you were rid of 'ol Javert." He laughed, a sound that made the Phantom cringe. "No no, little corpse, you're not rid of me, or anything for that matter. Just when you think that the past is laid to rest, it comes back to bite you." He moved closer, the smirk on his face reaching his eyes.

He was just as Erik remembered him: tall, round, perfectly grotesque. He was… a little too much just like Erik remembered him. It had been nearly forty years and he was _exactly _the same.

"That quick little mind of yours is working again, I see," Javert drawled. "Always were too bright for your own good."

"Where's Christine?" the Phantom demanded, his voice sounding raspy in his own ears. Fear, something he never let enter that angelic voice, now laced it.

Javert grinned evilly. "Oh she's being taken care of. Don't you worry about that!"

* * *

He'd turned to look at her and then stopped. Christine was shaking in fear now, begging and pleading for Erik to do something. Anything. He seemed to be in the same daze that Nadir was in. Mumbling to an unseen enemy that had him trembling ever so slightly.

"Erik, please…" she whispered, touching his hand carefully. "Say something… Come back." She reached her free hand up to his face, a jester that had become one of comfort between them. Now he pulled away, gasping like he'd been struck, and his knees gave way beneath him. She screamed his name as was at his side at an instant.

"No… please…" he murmured in what seemed to be a waking dream. His eyes were wide, tears gathered at the very corners and he shook now, just as much as she did.

"Erik, I'm here," Christine told him softly. "Please, my love…"

"He can't hear you."

Christine spun, seeing the old woman that had approached them before. "Who… Who are you?" she gasped. "What do you want from us? Why…would you do this?"

Dunicha smiled horribly. "You will see," she responded and seemed to disappear.

Christine watched in horror as Erik too faded into nothing. She screamed his name over and over again until everything around her shattered. She looked up at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes…"

"Raoul?" Christine gasped, looking around for her childhood friend. "Raoul? Where are you! They took Erik! Raoul! We have to find him!"

"Christine, why do you scream so?"

She turned again to another voice. "Papa!"

"Child… Did you find your Angel of Music? Or was he a demon?"

Flames erupted around the poor girl and she felt herself shiver despite of the heat. When she reopened her eyes she was standing in the middle of the underground lake. Erik, maskless and angry, stood between her and Raoul, who was strung up on the bars.

"You try my patience," he hissed. "Make your choice!"

Tears flooded down Christine's cheeks as her mind replayed the horror.

* * *

"Leave her be! She's not apart of this!" Erik shouted at Javert.

"Really?" the older man hissed. "Is she not? Well… Too bad. Such an innocent little flower, isn't she? Like someone else, don't you think?"

The darkness melted into a rooftop and Erik groaned. He knew this setting far too well. The voice that filled his ears was also familiar.

"Erik! I want you to take off the mask. _Please_ take off the mask."

Erik felt himself tremble. "Please… no… Luciana, you don't know what you ask. Don't make me live through this hell again! If you ever cared the slightest for me, you won't force me through this hell again!"

Her voice, always that childish, arrogant voice, melted into something much sweeter to his ears. _"Who is that shape in the shadows? Whose is that face in the mask?"_

He felt her hand touch his cheek and he jerked away. "No! Please…"

The mask fell away and he saw her silent scream as he did in so many nights past. As he had on that very day. She stumbled and he reached for her, knowing even as he did that she would fall. Knowing as he did that he would be running from that place and onto a darker future. She did fall. And Javet's laugh echoed in his ears.

* * *

"It's been too long," Meg whispered. "I'm worried, Raoul."

The aristocrat frowned. "They'll be alright. Erik would sooner die than let something happen to Christine."

"Yes, but…"

"Then you are their friends?"

Raoul and Meg spun, eyes wide and staring at the scrawny girl that had appeared soundlessly behind them. She looked at them through big, dark eyes and repeated her question, frowning when they only continued to stare. "I want to help. Dunicha's a mean old lady. She hates everyone. Can I help you?"

Meg softened first, smiling. "What's your name?"

"Cali."

"Well I'm Meg and this is Raoul."

"Meg! How do you know that this child is not-"

"Woman's intuition," the ballerina answered with a wink. "Where are they, Cali?"

"On the other side," the girl said as she motioned a ways off. "But keep your mind focused. Dunicha will pollute it with dreams."

* * *

A/N: Brownie points to jilauren 1224! Dunicha is the (once) girl that tried to say Erik had raped her (yeah, sure… he was twelve, but hey… ) when really she had just been off with her non-gypsy boyfriend….

A/N2: Okay, just incase anyone is confused on what's going on, Dunicha has them under her control and they are each slipping into a separate dream… mostly nightmares. So they're still there and not actually in any alternate dimension or anything crazy like that, just hallucinating.

LostSchizophenic: Sarcasm noted. Yes, I'm perfectly horrible, aren't I:grins:

Golden Lyre: She didn't really go anywhere… Erik just couldn't see her… Poor Erik.

Lizzie Black: Nope, not his mother, but nice try! And you sure you haven't read the book? Lol. That's all right. You've got a good source, whoever it is. Dunicha doesn't really know about Nadir's past, just, as you said, pulled up some of the strongest memories, emotions, ect… that reside in him. Even after all of those years, his son's death would still pain him. And I've never read the HP books, sorry :) Yes yes, you see the little girl again, obviously. I like her. She's adorable. I need to sketch her out. Hehe… Thanks for the nice long review!

India Pyro: Javert is dead, it's a dream.

Mariah: Nope, not the old lady Erik knew. Sorry. And the lady would be ninety! Dang! Lol… Anyway, hope I explained a little bit, but there's still more to come so sit tight.

Lynx Ryder: I sent the spoiler over email to you :) Just didn't want to spoil it for anyone else that might glance through all the notes and not really want to know. Let me know if you don't get it or something.

jilauren 1224: Bravo on your guess:hands you a cookie: Totally correct. I thought I'd throw something obscure in there, considering they only give her name once.

FreakinIdiot06: Haha! Angry emails can be fun. I wrote an essay last year and posted it on fp . com and I got so many angry reviews screaming and ranting at me b/c they didn't agree with my political views. It was very entertaining! Flames only make me laugh. :)


	11. Love Brings us Together

**Chapter Ten: Love Brings us Together**

_"Don't touch me! If you touch me I shall scream until the whole camp hears and comes to find us!"_

_He was stunned, and as his lantern illuminated her face once more, he saw the sly, secret smile of satisfaction cross her lips and he understood her purpose. "No one will believe you!" he gasped. "No one will believe it was I who lured you into this place."_

_"Oh you didn't lure me," she said simply. "I was taken by force."_

_"In silence?" he inquired with trembling sarcasm. "Without a single cry of protest?"_

_"I fainted – from terror." She was staring fixedly into the distance, as though she were watching a play being acted out in front of her. "Who would doubt the truth of that?"_

He had fled, Dunicha remembered. The boy who had been at least five years younger than herself had fled in the horror of what she was going to accuse him of. Even now it seemed like it had been such a good idea. The boy named Erik had been frightening to everyone in the camp with his horrifying face. No one would have thought that perhaps he would be too young to rape a pretty girl.

A pretty girl… Dunicha's eyes narrowed as she watched her three captives. They each fought their separate demons, and well they should! She remembered what had happened next with clarity. She had hobbled back to the camp, her ankle broken from the stumble she had taken, ready to tell her father and everyone else that the "little corpse" had raped her. It was simple enough to tear a bit of her blouse and skirt. So simple indeed.

She had never expected Javert to be dead. Certainly everyone knew it had been Erik, as the boy was nowhere in sight. The horrible man was lying in a pool of his own blood and Dunicha had gasped on entry.

"Get out of here, child!" her father had screamed at her. His eyes then had traveled down her tattered close. "What…?"

Tears had streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed out the story she had thought up to keep her true secret safe. Anger had erupted through the camp that night and they'd looked everywhere, but Erik was a trickster indeed. He was nowhere to be found.

Dunicha had grown old. Alone. Who waned a soiled woman, anyhow? She'd turned her mind to trickeries herself, learning a potion here and a spell there. She'd given her mind away as well as her soul to the devil himself by the time she was done and now she looked at least twenty years older than her actual age and as ugly as the man she hated so much. "If you'd never been there," she hissed at the Phantom who lay on the ground, shuddering from the dreams. An evil smirk crossed her face. "But now you're here. And now you're mine."

* * *

Luciana faded away from memory and blood spilled from everywhere. Persia. Horrifying Persia. Erik heard his own scream of terror fill his ears and he stepped away from the title wave of blood that seemed to come crashing down around him, drowning him in it.

"Please…" he begged quietly. "I've paid my dues! Long since! Haven't I suffered enough for what I've done?"

"But you're happy now," Javert answered, as if it were reason to torture the younger man. "Who can have that? Look over there."

Erik shuddered visibly when he saw Christine. Another image. Another dream. She was standing in on the shore of the underground lake with a clone of himself between her and Raoul.

She sobbed his name quietly and Erik saw his doppelganger tug on the rope. Hard. Raoul cried out in he darkness and Christine fell to her knees into the water, sobbing hysterically. "I can't…" she screamed, her voice sound lovely even through her tears. "I can't do this again!"

The Phantom froze in his spot. No… this was no false Christine.

"This can't be!" Javert shouted from behind him.

Erik paid him no heed as he raced towards his angel. "Christine!"

She looked up, her tear filled eyes locking with his. "Erik?"

He scooped her up into his arms, pulling her close to him and he heard her let out a small sound as his embraced tightened even more. She sobbed into his shoulder, locking her arms around his neck. "Oh Erik! I thought… I don't know, I just couldn't do it again! I made my choice, my love, please…"

"I know," he whispered to her, comforting her.

"This is impossible," Javert's horrible voice filled their ears. "This is _impossible_! The dreams don't intertwine! They are separate! That's how it is! The old witch screwed it up!"

A small smile crossed Erik's lips as Christine clung to him. "You've lost," he said simply, shrugging his broad shoulders.

* * *

"What is this?" Dunicha growled out. They'd been lying next to each other and she had thought nothing of it, but when she'd turned away, somehow, Erik and Christine had found their way into each other's arms. The old witch howled with fury, but then her eyes turned away. "Cali!"

The girl stepped out from behind a prop, large eyes frightened. "Yes?"

"Child, don't hide." A frightening smile crossed the old woman's lips. "Come here."

The child obeyed, stealing a glance back to where Raoul and Meg knelt, hidden. She dared not look long as the old, withering hand stretched itself out for her.

"Have I ever told you who your mother's father was?" asked an aged voice.

"No."

"He was Spanish. Promised the world, don't you know he did! Do you know that things like that, child, are why we don't trust outsiders?"

"Of course not, Grandmama," the girl answered quietly.

"Then why, dearest child, did you bring their friends?"

"Friends, Grandmama?"

The old woman slapped the child, sending the latter tumbling over herself. She loomed over her, hand pulled back and ready to strike again.

"No! Don't!" Meg screamed, standing from her place. "Please! She's only a child!"

"A rebellious little twit," Dunicha responded harshly. "And you, brat, what will you and your little friend do, eh?"

Meg's eyes went wide as she stared at the witch. Dunicha turned to see what the blond was staring at and Erik's gloved hand met her withering throat, throwing her easily aside like a rag doll. His eyes glowed with unnatural fury as he stood over her. "Release Nadir from your spell, hag."

She forced out a chuckle. "So you broke it, did you? Have a nice chat with Javert, Erik?"

The Phantom descended on her faster than anyone could follow and the old woman was hauled up by her frighteningly wild hair. "Watch your tongue."

"All right!" she hissed. "Let me go, corpse, and I release him."

"Perhaps I did not make myself clear," Erik growled lowly. "Release him. Now."

"The vile to undo it is in the tent," Cali's small voice whispered.

"You little tramp!" Dunicha screamed. Erik promptly dropped her and she landed with a thud on the hard ground. She turned her deep set eyes up to him. "How did you do it, boy?"

"I will always be by Christine's side," he answered simply, turning to usher the others into the tent for the vile, Cali leading the way.

* * *

A/N: There will be an epilogue.

Lynx Ryder: Glad you got the spoiler. Hope you enjoyed the next-to-last chapter :)

FreakinIdiot06: Hehe… stupid emails… At least they make for good amusement

LostSchizophrenic: Sorry I didn't update yesterday. Had tons of stuff to do

GoldenLyre: hehe… suspense is good. Means I'm going my job right

IndiaPyro: Cali is not on Dunicha's side. Erik does know it's a dream, but you know when you have a nightmare, you know it can't be real, but it's still just as scary b/c it's thrown in your face? That's how it is. She's not "showing" Nadir his son, she just pulled up the strongest memory she could.


	12. epilogue

**Epilogue

* * *

**

Erik stared at Nadir. The Persian man had been laid out on several carpets that made a makeshift bed inside of a tent and he was staring, glassy eyed, upward. Every few minutes he would mumble a few audible words, but it was one single name that made the mighty Phantom of the Opera crumble to his friend's side, the vile of potion that would bring him back to reality clutched in one gloved hand.

"What are you waiting for?" Darius, who had appeared as they had moved toward the tent, asked in halted French. He eyed Erik almost suspiciously.

Erik shot him a horrible look before returning his mismatched eyes to his friend. He felt Christine behind him and she draped her arms over his broad shoulders, hugging him from behind. He shivered in her embrace. "How can I do it again, Christine?" he asked. "How can I take his son away from him again?"

"Reza's not really there, Erik," his wife whispered, kissing his cheek and the tear that had slipped down it. "We can't leave him to his nightmares."

"But he's with him there."

"And he'd be with him in death, but would we let him die?"

Her husband's eyes widened in shock of the statement. "Never," he murmured.

Christine nodded. "Then we must bring him back."

"When did you become so resolute in your decisions?"

A smile graced her lips. "When I realized just how much I loved you."

* * *

Nadir had been sitting with his son in their home back in Persia. All was as it had been before Erik had ever come. Perhaps, if he were to let himself fall deeper into this world, his wife would return as well. He smiled as he watched his little boy stand with no trouble at all, but then Reza started to move away.

"Where are you going?" he called out to the boy.

Reza turned his dark eyes back to his father, a smile playing in them. "Catch me, Father!" he hollered back, starting to run,

Nadir frowned as he stood. "Come on back, Reza," he called to him and started after. He followed the boy through the halls of their home, winding here and there, and then he heard it. Music playing. The doll.

"Look, Father! Erik fixed it!" Reza cried out in delight, holding the toy out proudly. Erik stood next to him, a bony hand on the lad's thin shoulder.

"He has to go away now, Nadir," the magician said.

"No!" Nadir gasped. "No! Erik! You can't… Not again. You will not take my son from me again!"

The younger man looked saddened by his friend's voice. "I have no choice. You have to come back, Nadir. You can't stay with him." He turned his mismatched eyes downward. "Come now, Reza."

The boy grinned up at him and waved back at his father, as if they were going on a quick trip. Nadir felt tears prick his eyes and he tried to follow after them, but felt his feet connected to the ground. "Please! Erik! Please, I beg of you! **_Reza!_**"

* * *

Erik turned away at the sound of the screams. He'd fed the potion to the aging Persian, praying silently that he'd pull through to the other side and into reality with as little pain as would be possible. It was not a nightmare he was pulling out of. No… Nadir's emotions rested around his family that no longer resided there with him. It was paradise they were pulling him from.

The Phantom shuddered as the boy's name burst from the Persian's lips and then Nadir shot up from his place on the carpets. His jade eyes were wild with fear and confusion. He brought one shaking hand up to his face and through his thinning hair. "Erik?" he rasped.

"I am here."

"What… was that? He was so real. I felt him. He was there with me… My Reza…"

Christine watched her husband move to his friend, kneeling beside him. She turned her eyes to the others. "We'll wait outside," she murmured softly and Erik nodded. She left Raoul, Meg, and Darius no room to argue as she ushered them out.

* * *

The days that followed were not easy. Erik slipped out just after dusk every evening to check on his Persian friend. Every night he would return to his and Christine's home with the same news: Darius was watching over his master, but Nadir would not see him.

"I don't blame him," he said suddenly one night.

Christine looked up from her place at his feet, her book forgotten in her lap. "Blame who for what, my love?"

"Nadir. For not wanting to see me."

The young woman cringed at the sound of his pain filled voice. "Erik, I'm sure it's not that…"

"I took him away not once, but now twice."

"He was not there, Erik. Not this time," she whispered, placing her hand gently on his knee. "Nadir knows that."

"Knowing it and feeling it are different," the Phantom murmured.

"Give him time."

Her husband nodded, not knowing what else to do. She smiled at him as she stood and kissed his forehead. "You did what you could and that is all anyone can ask of you."

* * *

Late that night Erik and Christine awoke to what sounded like someone knocking at their bedroom door. They froze in still horror and Erik finally moved from the bed, slipping a robe over his body and his mask to his face before moving forward. Very few people knew a way to their home. Only two – now three with Madeleine – knew the way without going across the lake.

The door was flung open in preparation for an unwanted intruder, but the Phantom was instead met with two steady green eyes. "Terribly sorry for the hour," Nadir said at length. "I do hope I didn't interrupt."

Erik's eyes widened in surprise. "No…" he mumbled. "I thought…"

Nadir shook his head, waving off his old friend's comment. "I fear I've been rather impossible the last few days. It's just… It's been nearly forty years now and to see him again… I could barely…"

"I understand," Erik responded softly.

"The little girl – you know, the Gypsy that helped you – what became of her?"

"I do believe Madame Giry took her in. You will be seeing her again."

Nadir turned to hide a slight blush on his dark cheeks. Of course Erik knew that he and the ballet mistress had seen each other since their meeting not long before. They'd seen each other quite often in fact…

Erik chuckled at his friend's look. "Why did you come tonight, Nadir?"

The question caught the former Daroga off his guard and he looked up sharply. A sigh escaped his lips. "I blamed you, Erik, for the longest time…" he mumbled. "But you did all you could. And you did for me in that camp what I could not do for myself." He paused. "For that I thank you."

Erik smiled faintly. "We are…friends. And from what I know, that is what a friend does, is it not?"

Nadir shook his head in quiet amusement. "What do you know of friends?"

The Phantom shrugged. "I'm learning. Slowly but surely, I'm learning."

* * *

A/N: I've got the next fic in my head. Please keep your eyes open for "Mother's Love" which should focus on Erik and Madeleine, though you know Christine will certainly be there as a major character, and who knows who else will make their way in? I do so love to integrate everyone.

Lynx Ryder: Don't sulk! There's another story coming:grins:

LostSchizophrenic: Madeleine will play a big role in my next story, don't worry. :)

FreakinIdiot06: I'm sorry I didn't update Friday. I had my school banquet to go to and so I was getting pretty (a rarity lol) and trying to get there on time. I wrote a little, but didn't have time to post.

IndiaPyro: Yes, it's finished now, but worry not! There's another one coming up very soon!

Lizzie Black: Yeah, I like Cali. She's adorable. I need to draw her out to see what she looks like


End file.
